singer
songwriter
poet
Here in the station waiting in the café ,
feeling all alone; just for once I can't find
any words inside of me, you seem so far away.
Cigarette smoke is spiralling slowly,
hanging in the air, masking my eyes
from the watchers on the benches,
who pretend not to notice me.

Somebody coughs while the clock ticks, darkly;
the door opens slowly… could it be you?,…
no, it's just another stranger,
pulling his hat down low…
and everybody hates him momentarily,
for letting in the rain and cold, and reality…
of January.

Out on the platform bleakness and silence;
puddles of light from the cold grey lamppost
dripping in the darkness;
captured in shadow…
and you by the bridge, determined and strong now,
clutching your suitcase, turning your face
from the wind and the moon-glow,
wrapped in your mystery
I look outside and see the rain has turned to snow,
as on the wind I hear the distant whistle blow;
I'll miss you so.

Can't stand to go back home to my room,
to the big empty bed
and the promise of sleep
that will dance to avoid me,
filled with the memories…
So it's down to the pictures, joining the queue,
joining the strangers,…
suddenly seeing that I'm just another stranger,
with nothing else to do.

how I love you,
how I love you,
how I love you,
how I love you.

© Steve O'Kane